


Arrested Development Christmas Special

by DisappearingMuse



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Gen, just a chill fluffy Christmas story tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisappearingMuse/pseuds/DisappearingMuse
Summary: Michael has left the family. Forever. But, well, he can't resist a Christmas ceasefire. (Takes place after the Season 3 finale.)
Relationships: Byron "Buster" Bluth/Original Character(s), George Oscar "Gob" Bluth/Tony Wonder
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Arrested Development Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place a few years before my previous fic My Mother the Hearse- you don't necessarily have to read it first for this one to make sense, but it does go more in depth about where the characters are at in their lives. I've decided retroactively that this universe is basically an AU where nothing in Seasons 4 and 5 happened except for Blunder, cause uh...that's my happy place. I promise this one is more upbeat, I put the characters through hell so I wanted to write something with them happy :) Also, I was crunched for time so I barely edited this- real profesh, I know.
> 
> Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!!

Michael Bluth, standing on the model home's porch, loosened the tie noosing his neck. Multicolored Christmas lights lined the roof and railings, and mild California-winter air surrounded him. The building had once been so familiar to him. Now he hadn't seen it- or the people inside of it- for three years. _I'll see you when the first parent dies,_ he'd once told them, and now he was making good on his promise. This was their first Christmas without George Sr., and he figured the least he could do was show up and create a false sense of normalcy, although he didn't want to. Bluth Christmases were awkward- always some kind of argument, Lucille coming out with racist comments even before her first drink, and whatever burnt dish he had to stomach and praise because Lindsay was so proud of it. At least they weren't doing the Living Classics pageant. 

George Michael peeked out from behind the stack of badly wrapped presents in his arms. “Dad? Can we go in?” He'd been calm and collected, but Michael knew he was excited to see the family again. Especially- although Micheal tried to think about it as little as possible- Maeby.

“Sure, sure. I just thought you might need some time to- mentally prepare yourself.”

“Why would I need that?”

“Right.” Michael sighed and rang the doorbell.

Within a few seconds, Lucille opened it. Michael braced himself for a passive aggressive comment about how long it had been since she last saw him, but she just smiled and welcomed them in. A giant plastic tree, its arms bent in awkward directions and dripping with ornaments, crunched itself against the roof, and the scent of something burnt wafted in from the kitchen. A mob of Bluths and Funkes swarmed him. Lindsay and Gob hugged him- Michael was glad to see them in good spirits, as they had been in the worst shape when he last saw them. Buster, who had a new delicate-looking ivory hand, rubbed his shoulders, and Tobias greeted his ass with a firm smack. In the background, George Michael and Maeby exchanged an awkward hello.

His eyes wandered to the two new people in the room, a man in a diamond-studded suit with a W-shaped beard dyed a festive red and green; and a redheaded woman who looked to be in her late twenties, her shy, polite smile and clearly inexpensive white dress, tied in the back with a tacky bow, incongruous with everyone else.  _Another girlfriend of Gob's,_ he thought.  _Poor woman._

The man flourished his hand. “Michael. I've heard so much about you.”

Michael shook it uncertainly. “And you are?”

Gob cut in. “Are you serious? You haven't heard of him, Michael? Have you been living under a rock?  _This_ is Tony Wonder, the best magician you'll ever meet. Besides me, of course.”

“Oh. Aren't you...”

“Jewish? Yeah. Gob already came to see my family.”

“So are you two doing some kind of...little trick together?”

“No, Michael _._ One, they're illusions. Two, he's my boyfriend.” Gob slung an arm around Tony's shoulder. He probably meant it to be a big surprise, but in hindsight, Michael wasn't all that surprised. 

“Besides,” Tony said, “I already did the hardest trick of all. Turning us both gay.”

“Yeah, I don't think that's how it works, you guys.” Michael turned to the woman. “So then who's-?”

She shook his hand. “I'm Lucy. Or- well, everyone here calls me Lucille Three.”

“So you must be Buster's girlfriend.” She nodded, and he stepped back, taking in both of them. It was so strange; he used to see his brothers on a near daily basis, and now he'd missed so much of their lives. It hurt more than expected. “Well. My sincere condolences that you have to meet the family.”

A cloud of smoke rolled out of the kitchen, and the fire alarm joined shouts of “Michael!” from Lindsay and Lucille.

“Jesus Christ. Sorry, guys. Looks like I'm needed elsewhere.” He made a big show of rolling his eyes as he went off to help them, but he was relieved. In that moment, it seemed like nothing had changed.

-

“This tastes amazing, Lindsay,” Michael said after choking down the turkey's charred remains. He washed it down with a swig of white wine, his usual holiday defense.

From across the table, she beamed at him. “Thanks!” He didn't know what had happened to her taste buds to make her believe him. She picked at her tiny plate made up of steamed vegetables. Around Lucille, she never ate much, wanting to avoid her mother's unfounded comments about her weight. She leaned her elbow on the table. “So? How's Phoenix?”

“It's wonderful. Everything I hoped it would be.” He wasn't necessarily lying. He talked about his cottage out in the red desert, which was so much more his style than the model home's pretentious curves and spires, and his new development job building similar cottages, reveling in the disapproval steaming off of them. Everything he had time for now, fishing and bicycling and studying law on the side. What he didn't mention was the way the silence became so sharp, how lonely holidays were with just him and George Michael, how none of his coworkers quite became friends even after going out for drinks with them- he was good at being respected, but friends didn't come so easy. It had always been family, and now that was gone; when people asked, he told them he was estranged from them, and it always came out harsh and melodramatic. It depressed him to talk about here in this space full of light and people. “But I'm sure it's not as...grand as whatever you all have going on. What'd I miss?”

“We were at the pound the other day on a date,” said Buster excitedly, “And we saw this three-legged Chihuahua puppy, and its name was Buster.”

“That's...great, buddy,” Michael said.

Buster's knife slipped as he tried to cut the meat one-handed, and Lucille, sitting beside him, started to reach over. Without noticing, Lucille Three steadied his arm, moving it for him. Buster nuzzled her in thanks and refilled her wine glass. Lucille settled back down like nothing had happened, purposely not looking at them.

“Tony and I moved in together,” said Gob.

Michael raised his eyebrows. Gob was not the moving in type. But the way he looked at Tony, with something more than lust, the way he got all breathless and excited talking about him, Michael could tell this time was different.

“But we're not going to be one of those boring couples who always talk about doing the dishes or cleaning the living room,” Tony said. Gob clinked their glasses of red wine together.

Buster nudged Lucille Three's shoulder.

She shoved him back. “Stop. I do not do that.”

“You totally do.”

“Lame,” Gob said, winking at Buster over her shoulder. Buster tried to wink back, but he couldn't close one eye and ended up looking like his mother. Michael's eyebrows rose further. He couldn't remember the last time the brothers had a civil interaction.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lindsay said, “my fundraiser to keep the woodlands undeveloped reached half a million dollars.”

“An actual good cause this time! Lindsay, that's fantastic.”

“Oh, stop.” Though she would never admit it, Lindsay liked when Michael was proud of her.

“Yes, well,” Lucille said, “just be glad it's not the woods _you_ want to develop.”

“Knew there was another motive.”

“I'm making her commercials,” Tobias pitched in.

“No, you're not,” Lindsay said.

After dessert, a lopsided berry Chantilly cake Lucille cobbled together, Michael helped clear the plates, and they squished themselves onto the living room couch. Opening gifts was every Bluth's favorite part of the evening- and the reason Christmas was the Bluths' favorite holiday. Childish excitement radiated off his siblings, their eyes glued to the mound of gifts under the tree.

Tony handed Gob a tall, rectangular present with a lavish bow, and Gob gave him one of the same build. They looked from each other to the gifts, then burst out laughing.

“No way,” Tony said, and opened his. It was a painted portrait of himself against a swirly blue and purple background, holding out a top hat. Gob's was a portrait in the same style with a red background, picturing him holding up the ace of spades and grinning like his victim had picked the right one.

“We do this all the time,” Gob said. “Look, it's even the same artist.”

Tony flung himself practically on top of Gob, smothering him with a rather graphic kiss. Michael had found it sweet until that moment.

“Oh, would you stop that?” said Lucille. She muttered to Michael, not bothering to keep her voice low, “I should have known he was one of them. So flamboyant.”

Lindsay and Tobias traded gifts that neither seemed enthused about, but they thanked each other anyway. Maeby and George Michael gave each other letters that they read on the spot, and they both laughed at the contents like they were rife with inside jokes. Michael never had to think hard about what to get his family. Lindsay cooed over her new red dress, Buster hugged his new teddy bear to his chest, Lucille slipped on her ruby necklace, and Gob immediately began examining his new deck of trick cards, struggling to figure out how they worked. They'd all gotten him late housewarming gifts, kitchen towels and stools and rugs. A truce, it seemed. Everyone had been angry when he took off on that boat unexpectedly, but he took this as a sign that all was forgiven.

Once he'd gathered his items into a domestic pile, Buster was opening an envelope from Lucille Three. Gob squinted over his shoulder. “Adoption papers? Did you buy a kid?”

The room stewed in the horrible idea of Buster having children before Lucille Three said, “No, we don't want babies. I've already got mine.” She ran a hand over Buster's shoulder. Suddenly, the two of them being together made much more sense to Michael. It was much weirder than anything Gob and Tony could do.

“Wait. That's my name,” Buster said. “Are you adopting me?”

She giggled. “No, honey.”

He read farther and squealed, throwing his arms around her.

She hugged him back. “I've been wanting a pet anyway. You can come visit him anytime, okay?” Buster clung to her and didn't let go until he noticed Lucille's disapproving look from across the room.

Finally, only one gift remained, a tiny square one. Lindsay handed it to Maeby. “From me and your father.”

Deep surprise blossomed on Maeby's usually stoic face. Her parents normally forgot to give her a gift. She opened the wrapping paper like she was in no hurry, but once she opened the ring box, she looked carefully at the pendant inside- a silver one shaped like a graduation cap- and laughed. Michael leaned over his son to read the tiny words inscribed on it: “You smart-ass bitch.”

“So you'll never forget your momentous graduation,” Tobias said.

Michael would normally have told her this wasn't an appropriate present for your child, but Maeby seemed delighted. “I- wow. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Lindsay said. “We're so proud of you.”

The carpet was barely visible under a thicket of wrapping paper and bows. The alcohol had taken root in everyone's system, and they started to laugh harder, all talking in a disconnected chatter. The sober ones- the kids and Buster- stared at them with a longing for that ease and confidence. Michael watched everything through a fuzzy veneer. He had been afraid to let George Michael try alcohol when they lived together, knowing how it affected his grandmother. He hated the thought of George Michael at wild parties on the weekends, getting into God knows what trouble- he wasn't that type of kid, but it was a college ritual.

Somehow they got on the topic of Christmases past. “Remember the year Gob was, like, eleven and set the tree on fire?” Lindsay said.

“You never told me about that, dude,” Tony said.

“Wasn't that important,” Gob said. “We can't forget the Christmas edition of _Boyfights_. when I totally wrecked Michael.”

“'Plus Baby Buster: Why Won't Mother Spank Me?'” Lucille said, smiling at the fond memory. “I was proud of my camerawork on that one.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Buster said, blushing, but Lucille Three was doubled over laughing.

“You had a baseball bat, Gob,” Michael said. “It wasn't exactly fair.” He thought back to last year, he and George Michael alone in a cottage, hovering around a miniature tree, eating a supermarket turkey, radio piano twinkling in the background to create a sense of happiness that wasn't there. The only Christmas he'd ever spent without the whole family. It didn't feel real next to all these memories.

“Or when I found out Santa wasn't real when I saw Dad putting Michael's bike under the tree,” Lindsay said self-importantly.

“Why would you remind me of that?” Gob said. “It crushed me.”

Their voices spiraled up like the smoke in the fireplace until the sky got dark. Michael's buzz dwindled into exhaustion. Tomorrow morning would be awful, as always. Everyone would be hungover. But amazingly, tonight hadn't been. In fact, it may have been the best Christmas he'd ever had: laughing, surrounded by cheer, starting to wonder if family being the most important thing wasn't so stupid after all.

A sick part of him, he realized now, had wanted to find them miserable when he came back. He wanted them to beg for his help, admit they couldn't do it without him. He wanted to disappear into their problems so he didn't have to think about his own. But they seemed happier now than when he left. How could that be? How hadn't they launched themselves into debt or gotten themselves locked up? He thought he was better off without them, but maybe they were better off without him.

Tobias was studying him while everyone else talked. “Michael, you seem distressed.”

He sat up taller. “Just the alcohol crash.”

Tobias held his hands up to his mouth as if dangling a cigarette between them, Freudian. “Ah, Michael. I see right through you. You feel left out, don't you?”

“No, I-”

“You know, perhaps someday you'll be able to find happiness for yourself instead of through other people.”

Michael blinked, the words sinking through his skin. “Maybe I've had too much to drink, but that might be the smartest thing you've ever said.”

Tobias tipped an imaginary hat. “I'm among the best.”

“Actually, no. I think you'd be a good mime, not an actor. Anything that keeps your mouth shut.”

Tobias put his hat back on. “You, sir, are a rude drunk.”

But Michael kept thinking about his words as the evening wound down. Buster and Lucille Three left for her apartment, wanting to get back to Buster the dog, and Gob and Tony took off as well, no doubt wanting to consummate the holiday. Lindsay was performing her talent, falling asleep on the couch.

“I should get to bed myself,” Michael said.

Lucille rose. “Let me show you there.”

“Mom, I know where my room is...”

“I'm coming.”

Knowing not to argue, he waded through the wrapping paper sea, knowing it wouldn't be cleaned up until tomorrow- or, more likely, the day after, once the hangovers wore off. Lucille had offered for him to stay in his old room overnight. He expected it to be remodeled into a useless guest room or whatnot, but it looked exactly the same. The picture of George Michael on the nightstand, the bamboo, the clothes he hadn't gotten a chance to take with him because of the sudden departure still in the closet. He couldn't understand why. Maybe they were too lazy to move his things into the attic. Maybe they really thought he would come back someday. Maybe they couldn't accept that he wasn't.

“Thank you for coming,” Lucille said.

“Thank you for letting me.”

“Why wouldn't I? You're my child. You're always welcome here.”

Michael perched on the edge of the bed. “Everything seems to be going really well with you guys. You're getting along.” He tried to sound pleased.

“Lindsay won't stop holding being adopted over my head. Gob has suddenly become some beacon of social justice and calls me homophobic every time I see him. Tobias keeps trying to diagnose me with- oh, what was it- narcissistic personality disorder. Can you believe that? And Buster is off with that whore and isn't listening to me.”

"Ah. That makes more sense." Michael leaned back. “She seems to really care for him, Mom. I think you should let him live with her. Then he won't get on your nerves so much. And Gob might have a point.”

Lucille sighed. “Couldn't spend one day without trying to pull the strings?”

“I'm not. I'm just saying.”

“I'll sleep on it.” Lucille turned, throwing him a rare smile. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Michael got ready and shrugged into the blue bathrobe in his closet. He lay in bed staring at the red and green glow of the lights outside the window. Whatever he could say about his family, they really were resilient. Nothing could keep them knocked down for long.

This, at least, he was proud to have inherited.


End file.
